Month: November 2015

What’s wrong? What’s wrong is that you left, you took my heart and you ran. Can I have it back? Because fuck its hard to move forward when I keep looking back. And the funny things is that your not in my life but you are holding me back. And my empty chest needs to be filled with love and emotions because I’ve stopped caring. And all around me are dark clouds and your memories stuck in my head. Everywhere I look I see your face and everything I see brings back pain in some way. You were my everything and then you ripped my chest into shreds dug in there and took what ever was left but thanks for leaving a small piece but of course that small piece is attached to you.

“What’s wrong?”

Oh nothing I’m fine thanks for asking me. Have a nice day. See you around.

A Generation of lies and deciet, soley based on faith and political speakers. A Generation so against the word defeat we rather kill our own men then stop to think. We grew up as kids thinking being adults would be great that we’d find a meaning along the way. But, as I grow in age this empty void that was promised to be filled by surrounding adults grew deeper and deeper with a black sorrow. A Generation so afaird of speaking out and being heard we rather kill ourselves to be known that we felt a pain inside. A society that teaches us to love ourselves immensely but not to much that we become conceited but how can I love myself, to truly feel beautiful where I am in a society that says based on my weight and face that I am not pretty. That I am not worthy of such affection because of imperfections and flaws I could not have stopped. A Generation where we all have dying flowers inside of us and no one to water them because why show affection when becoming heartless can help you protect yourself. But in all this self-protect and self-doing, we’re missing out on community events and making friends. Creating freindships of lifetimes and learning lessons. A Generation where we as mankind rather stop and pick up a random dollar bill on the street then to stop and help pick up an emptied purse. Tell me when we as a Generation became something we all regreted. Tell me when we as a Generation became something so hated.